Tell Me More
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: Alfred loves the sound of Arthur's voice, whether he speaks English or not. Sometimes, the exotic can be erotic, after all.


**This was written in a fic exchange, so before I start, I have to say:**

**I fail. I fail so hard – kagomegirl2004, I apologize to you with deep and utter sincerity. I can't believe this has taken me so long to finish, and I really hope that you enjoy it, despite its inexcusable lateness. I just… was unsatisfied with it, at first, and your half of the exchange was SO GOOD that I had to re-write this and make it better… Again, I worked really hard, so I hope that you enjoy it! -_- Everyone, I hope you ALL enjoy it.**

… **I don't speak **_**any**_** of the languages involved, besides English and Japanese, so please correct me in my gratuitous GoogleTranslate use.**

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Alfred loved the sound of Arthur's voice.

He admitted that freely – after all, what was the goal of constantly baiting him, but to coax a burst of rapid swearing and a lecture on propriety? Surely, the lectures that followed the sport of Arthur-baiting weren't so fun, but Alfred would take them, if it meant being able to listen to Arthur speak with his adorable accent and his careful, clipped pronunciation and the way he rounded his vowels so smoothly…

Alfred also liked it when Arthur would give presentations for world meetings. He could stare straight at the Brit for the hour it took for him to prattle on about the economy or wool prices or the consistency of oatmeal; Alfred didn't much care. It wasn't as if he were unduly interested in the proceedings, in any case.

That was the thing… Alfred would _much_ rather just hear the sounds Arthur made, without having to listen to exactly what he was _saying_.

"Oi, twit, are you paying attention?"

Alfred was jarred from his thoughts by a very irate Englishman very much in his face. Their noses brushed, and Alfred would have laughed had he not been staring into a pair of furious green eyes.

"Course I was, Artie, I was hanging on to your every word!" Alfred laughed nervously, encircling Arthur's wrist in gloved fingers and blowing a puff of hot air onto his cold nose, hoping to distract him a little. They were walking from their hotel to the world meeting in the conference hall across the street, and Alfred was loving the cold air and the warmth of the body beside him. Grudging warmth, on occasion, but warmth nonetheless.

"If you were paying so much attention, tell me what I just said," Arthur ordered petulantly. Alfred's face fell into a pout.

"Aww, Artie, don't play that game –"

"Tell me!"

Alfred had not been lying; he'd been hanging onto _every word_. But he might not have understood all of them, is all, too focused on Arthur's accent to actually process what he was saying.

"Erm… it was about your presentation!" Alfred tried, taking a shot in the dark. "And you think… um… that you are prepared and were going over notes and stuff."

Arthur blinked, and had a thoughtful look on his face. "Oh. Well, sorry, then. I guess you _were_ paying attention."

Alfred could not repress a triumphant, if surprised, smirk. "See, I'm a good boyfriend! I know you were worried about stabilizing the euro and –"

Arthur smacked him on the back of the head. "Or maybe you were just a lucky little brat the first time. My presentation is on the situation in Libya." Nevertheless, he was smiling fondly at Alfred. "I'll give you half credit, though."

They were stepping into the conference hall by now, and Alfred kissed his cheek. "See, you do love me."

"I won't admit it, though," Arthur shot back. "Now, I need to go coordinate some things with Kiku."

"I'll come with! I brought him a video game to borrow, anyway," Alfred said with a laugh, brandishing the device in question. Arthur rolled his eyes again, stepping over to the Asian nation.

Kiku was in the front of the room, obviously the first presentation of the day. He was running back and forth, checking a projector and laptop, rifling through notes, and generally looking harried. The poor nation looked as if he had gotten little to no sleep the night before. It made sense. The conference was being hosted in Madrid this time (perhaps to avoid the winter weather elsewhere, but it was still damn cold!), and the jetlag on poor Kiku must be fierce. Alfred sympathized, having had a not-so-fun flight time himself.

"Kiku, if you have a moment, I'd like to coordinate some things with you…" Arthur began, brandishing his own folder of presentation notes.

Kiku stopped a frenzied typing on the laptop, freezing solid as if he had been caught doing something wrong. Taking a deep breath and visibly trying to get a hold of himself, he stood up and looked at Arthur. "Yes, of course, h-how can I…" His gaze kept flicking back to the computer screen, Alfred noticed, where a big red "Error" message was flashing. Kiku began to type again as Arthur talked.

"…Well, your presentation on current affairs leads right into mine, and I was wondering if maybe we could check over to see if we have any redundancy in the information."

"Yes, yes, of course," Kiku mumbled distractedly. "I will check my – ah, this thing - I'll have to – なぜコンピュータがかわれているか？！" He turned to Arthur, as if to address him. "失礼しますが、私のプリゼンは-!" For a moment, Kiku looked horrified. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to slip into Japanese; I'm just a little more harried than normal today…"

Arthur smiled at him, patting him on the shoulder. "It's no trouble. 私たちは日本語を話せます、ね？" At his words, Kiku relaxed visibly, and sent off a rapid stream of Japanese that Alfred had a hard time following with his own mediocre knowledge of the language. He was a little surprised when Arthur slipped into Japanese, but Alfred supposed fluency was logical – Arthur and Kiku had been friends for a long time.

Giving up understanding the thread of the conversation, Alfred leaned against the podium and just let the sounds washed over him.

Arthur sounded even cuter in Japanese.

Alfred realized that with a start. Arthur's strange pronunciation of vowels was even more obvious in this tongue, and he never quite got the hang of the r's-that-sounded-like-l's-or-maybe-d's that Alfred had hated so much when he was learning the language. It was rather adorable. It also kind of turned Alfred on, but Arthur had always had that effect on him.

And that's when Alfred realized – when Arthur didn't speak in English, he sounded… really, really hot.

Added bonus: Alfred didn't have to pay attention, because he legitimately did not understand what was being said.

Alfred let his eyes drift closed, imagining Arthur talking to _him_ in Japanese, calling endearments and cries for _more_ and _harder,_ splayed beneath him in bed…

"Alfred, are you spacing out again?" Arthur demanded. Alfred's head snapped up, and he looked sheepish.

"Maybe," he admitted. He handed Kiku the videogame. "Anyway, calm down, right?" he said, patting the man's head. "It'll be cool."

Kiku smiled weakly at him, and Alfred and Arthur went to find their seats.

* * *

The meeting, for Alfred, passed in much the same way as all others did – long stretches of doodling and tormenting his neighbors, with a single burst of focus that came with Arthur's presentation. All in all, Alfred learned nothing but the fact that he really wanted Arthur to speak in Japanese again.

After the meeting, Alfred dragged Arthur out to go eat, and Arthur insisted on the "cultural experience" – British for "no hamburgers".

Antonio was more than willing to point out good restaurants to any of the nations interested, and Alfred and Arthur, after a bit of a taxi ride, found themselves in a warm, cozy, homey sort of restaurant on a quiet side street in Madrid.

Alfred peered at his menu, puffing out his cheeks in annoyance. While his spoken Spanish was pretty awesome, thanks to California, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona all ganging up on him and making him learn, he still was rather slow at reading anything written.

Arthur, on the other hand, merely glanced at his own menu before waving the server over and ordering. Alfred peered pleadingly at him across the table, which Arthur understood to be a "Help me, I'm totally lost" sort of look, and proceeded to order for Alfred, too.

"_¿Habla usted español?"_ asked the waiter, perhaps unnecessarily. "_No muchos turistas británicos son capaces de_…"

Arthur smiled indulgently back. "_Por supuesto que puedo hablar español. Su lenguaje es muy hermosa._"

The waiter made a sound of appreciation, and he and Arthur launched into a conversation – mostly about why Arthur was here, how long he had been speaking Spanish, and the like. America could follow along for the most part, but he had come to the second realization of the day:

Artie sounded good in Japanese, and he sounded _really_ good in Spanish.

Again, Alfred tuned out the meaning of the words and just listened. No wonder Spanish was a "Romance" language, if his boyfriend could sound so _hot_ speaking it. Oh man, the way the words just fell out his mouth, all velvety and slightly bubbly and _sexy_ made Alfred want to take him home right now and throw him to the hotel bed… and they hadn't even eaten yet! Alfred really _was_ turned on, to pass up food.

But he managed to quash the most base of his desires as Arthur finished up his conversation with the waiter and let him wander off to attend other customers.

Arthur sighed, sitting back. "Well, we have another few days in Madrid, but once the conference is over… do you have to be getting right back home?" he asked, letting a little hope creep into his voice. Alfred might not be great at reading the atmosphere, but he was quite adept at discerning the subtle changes in Arthur's tone.

Alfred grinned. "Nope. I've got until next Saturday."

"Well…rather… would you…" Arthur was squirming and the beginnings of a blush were beginning to work their way onto his cheeks. Alfred almost laughed, loving the way the prim and proper man could look like an absolute schoolgirl at times. "Would you like to come to London with me for a bit?"

Alfred leaned across the entire table, dragging his tie in his water glass, and kissed Arthur firmly on the lips. "I'd love to," he said, winking and sitting back down. "I don't get to spend enough time with you, anyway! Besides, if I weren't around, I'd worry about you passing out from work-related exhaustion or something stupid like that." Alfred laughed. "You need a vacation, and I do too!"

Arthur snorted at the comment, but nevertheless looked rather pleased. "Well, then, I guess it's a date."

Alfred set his gaze to just the right level of "smoulder". "I guess it is…" he said suggestively, and delighted in the way Arthur turned bright red in response. Because even if Arthur could turn Alfred on by his voice, Alfred, in turn, knew just the right ways to make the Brit hot under the collar.

* * *

Dinner passed peacefully, as did the taxi ride back to the hotel – until Arthur got to the front desk and began to inquire as to where he could get a few shirts pressed. In Spanish.

It was all Alfred could do not to jump him there, and instead resorted to dragging Arthur towards the elevator by the back of the jacket, mumbling something about "figuring it out later" before shoving him into the waiting elevator and kissing him soundly. By the time they had stumbled into the hotel room, Arthur's shirt was half-unbuttoned and his tie was lost forever (or until morning, when they could retrieve it from the hallway). Alfred had his bomber jacket in his hands, and he dropped it to the floor, guiding the Brit to the bed and pushing him down, helping him off with his shirt as quickly as he could.

Countless curses, rips, and awkward stumbles later, a very naked Alfred was sprawled on top of a very naked Arthur, pressed together hip to chest and kissing fiercely. Alfred splayed rough hands across Arthur's bony hips, holding the man as gently as he could, wanting to keep him close forever. Arthur just had that sort of effect on him, a desire to possess completely. It made Alfred a little uncomfortable, how much he _wanted_ Arthur sometimes. Maybe that's why Arthur's proficiency at foreign languages worried him. Speaking another nation's language made Arthur somehow belong to them.

But that just awakened the raw need in Alfred to make Arthur _his_ once more, and then things like _this_ happened.

Growling a little, Alfred pressed hard, open kisses to England's chest, feeling ribs and scars beneath his lips and loving that he knew every mark he passed over. For a moment, his tongue brushed against one of Arthur's nipples and the resulting, breathy gasp brought a surge of arousal to Alfred, watching Arthur come undone by his own hands.

Arthur's fingers tripped blindly over the bedside table, clumsily pulling open a drawer and trying to find the lube Alfred had stashed there when they unpacked.

Alfred, deciding that Arthur was not being kissed enough if he was still able to think coherently, slid the point of his tongue directly across Arthur's nipple, not pausing before slipping a warm, wet trail across ribs and barely-there abs and a cute bellybutton and then much lower, onto Arthur's half-hard cock and across it, until Alfred's tongue rested on the very edge of Arthur's leaking head.

That did it – Arthur's wandering hand went limp even as his body tensed completely, arching backward like a strung bow as he let out the most beautifully incoherent moan.

Alfred grinned in heady victory even as he felt his head swim with the raw need to take Arthur and make him _scream_ –

His brain screeched to a halt as a very familiar ringtone echoed in the room.

Alfred groaned. It was "My Country 'Tis Of Thee" and it was very much his phone.

"Damn, I thought I turned that off!" he hissed, scrambling for his pants and trying to locate the stupid device. Arthur let out a growl of frustration, sitting up.

"What in the world did you stop for -?"

"Wait, I _did_ turn it off…" muttered Alfred, pulling out his cell and checking it to make sure.

Arthur moved clumsily to his knees as the music continued.

"That's my bloody phone; its playing 'God Save the Queen'!" he groaned.

"No, it's playing 'My Country 'Tis –"

"We've had this discussion before!" Arthur interrupted, an vicious edge to his pronouncement, an edge that Alfred was realizing to be _desperation_. Alfred smirked a little, knowing it was _him_ that made Arthur so desperate.

Arthur half-fell of the bed, his legs trembling, as he searched for his phone in his own pants pocket, pulling it out and groaning as he read the caller ID.

"It's Brin," Arthur spat, referring to his brother, the personification of Wales.

"Don't care, turn it off," muttered Alfred, as Arthur sat on the edge of the bed.

Arthur frowned. "He _never_ calls – he always makes Colin or Patrick do it."

Alfred let out a noise of frustration. They were both sprawled out in bed, naked, with raging hard-ons and Arthur wanted to _answer the phone?_

"Artie…" Alfred whined, kneeling behind him and kissing his shoulder.

"Alfred, this might be important…" Arthur said with a sigh. "Please, just give me a moment –" And he flipped open his phone, not giving Alfred time to protest.

Alfred _growled_ as Arthur began to speak.

"Brin? Brin, why did you – what? No, stop interrupting me – No, I will not – I'm not going to speak – Fine! _Beth 'r annwfn dych chi eisiau?____"_

Very quickly, Alfred decided he was no longer pissed that Arthur had answered the phone in the middle of sex.

The third thing that Alfred had realized today was this: Arthur may sound amazing in Japanese, and even better in Spanish, but when he was spitting out angry, cursing Welsh Alfred wanted to screw him into the mattress.

___"__Rydych galw arnaf yng nghanol y nos i ofyn i mi pan Colin's pen-blwydd yn?____" Arthur was spitting into the phone. Alfred didn't understand a word. He __loved____ it. Everything he loved about Arthur's voice, the power and passion and smoothness and roundness, was all somehow magnified in this one language. Trying not to catch Arthur's attention, he reached for the open bedside drawer and pulled out the lube._

In the back of Alfred's mind, the conversation went on – Arthur growing more and more agitated, his voice darker and more hearkening. Then, it was interrupted by a surprised squawk as he was forced onto his back and a slick hand was rubbing his balls.

"_Gotsan!"_ Arthur hissed, then turned a bright and glowing red with heated embarassment – and arousal, Alfred . He grinned knewtriumphantly as Arthur shot him the most venomous and irritated glare he could work up while on his back with some man's hand making him squirm with just the lightest teasing.

"_ Nad ydych, ____Brin! _–" Arthur said quickly into the phone, but then he had to clap a hand over the mouthpiece as he let out a deep and beautiful moan as Alfred winked at him and licked a warm trail up his painfully hard cock. Oh, Alfred was loving this, loving what sounded like biting curses in Arthur's old and venerable and wild language.

He lapped up everything he could, tasting sweat and skin and _Arthur_ as Arthur tried desperately to hold back his sounds of pleasure.

"J-just let me hang _up_, Alfred!" Arthur whined, trying to twist out of his grasp even as he bucked into Alfred's touch.

Alfred did not relent, pretending not to hear Arthur as he begged Alfred to "_stop, please, Alfred -!"_

And for a moment, Alfred _did_ stop. He moved his mouth away from Arthur's aching cock, only to slide up his hot and flushed body, whispering in his ear:

"Just keep talking," Alfred told him huskily. "I'll reward you, if you do."

In any other circumstance, the blatant order would have caused Arthur to try and inflict pain, but right now he was in no condition even to _move_, much less take any action against the man above him, grinding their hips together. He shakily removed his hand from the phone speaker.

"B-brin?" Arthur tried, closing his eyes as Alfred triumphantly rolled their lower bodies to press together. "_'N annhymerus' siarad â chi yn nes ymlaen, iawn?_" His voice trembled audibly, and Alfred ran slick, lubed fingers down his chest, making the man beneath him tense and arch, as if to press himself closer.

_"Nid wyf yn gallu - Rhaid i mi fynd –" _Oh, he was losing it now, Alfred could tell; his voice was so strained that it could crack any second into a yell or a moan. The rain-on-roof tat-tat of the language was growing more drawn out and shaken, and Alfred loved it. He could tell everything Arthur was feeling, just by the way his words fell from his lips.

He stuck one finger inside Arthur, not warning him even with a spare glance, and Arthur snapped his phone shut so quickly that something was heard to crack inside it.

Alfred was certain Arthur had just rudely hung up on his brother. He felt a sense of utter satisfaction, continuing the fast and thorough pace of his finger-fucking.

"Alfred..." Arthur moaned. "You absol- absolute – you – ngh..."

Two fingers now, and Alfred was thrusting hungrily, feeling the bunch and swell of Arthur's muscles as he twisted beneath him.

"Just keep making noise, baby," Alfred told him, nuzzling Arthur's neck fiercely, taking in the scent of sweat and arousal that lingered there.

They'd shagged just the other night, and Alfred felt that no other preperation was necessary. Besides, he was far too impatient to wait any longer. Grinning at Arthur, and receiving a half-mast look of desire in return, Alfred placed gentle hands at Arthur's smooth thighs, easing them open and pushing himself deep inside.

Despite the fact that they both knew what was coming, neither man could hold back deep and lustful groans – Arthur, at being filled so completely and with so much ease; Alfred, with the tight heat and the sense of utter intimacy.

It wasn't long before Arthur bit out an order to _move, move now, **please**_, and Alfred acquiesced, gave in, gave up, lost himself utterly and completely in warmth that was no longer grudging.

After such a long day in the cold of Madrid, Arthur's warmth was given freely and desperately.

Alfred listened to the incoherent moans and cries that Arthur groaned out beneath him and he realized the most important thing that he had learned that day:

Arthur's voice was beautiful, no matter what language he spoke – but sometimes it sounded the most alluring when he said nothing coherent at all.

* * *

Translations:

Japanese: (PS – Didn't use Sonkeigo, or very formal, style here because A: it makes my head hurt and B: Kiku is likely too frazzled to be too polite, and Arthur probably doesn't know anything besides just the regular, slightly formal language. /language nerd)

なぜコンピュータがかわれているか? – Why is the computer broken?

失礼しますが、私のプリゼンは-! – Pardon my rudeness, but my presentation is -!

私たちは日本語を話せます、ね – We can speak in Japanese, can't we?

Spanish:

"¿Habla usted español?" – Do you speak Spanish?

"No muchos turistas británicos son capaces de…" – Not many British tourists are able to.

"Por supuesto que puedo hablar español. Su lenguaje es muy hermosa." – Of course I can speak Spanish. Your language is very beautiful.

Welsh: I don't even have a frame of REFERENCE for this; if I've mutilated it I"M SO SORRY.

_Beth 'r annwfn dych chi eisiau – ____What the hell do you want?_

_Rydych galw arnaf yng nghanol y nos i ofyn i mi pan Colin's pen-blwydd yn? – ____You called me in the middle of the night to ask when Colin's birthday is?_

_Gotsan –_ Cunt

_Nad ydych, Brin!____ – Not you, Brin!_

_'N annhymerus' siarad â chi yn nes ymlaen, iawn?____ – I'll talk to you later, okay?_

_Nid wyf yn gallu - Rhaid i mi fynd –____ I can't – I have to go -_


End file.
